


Of Seawalls and Storms

by BelfastDocks



Category: Chronicles of Prydain - Lloyd Alexander
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon Continuation, F/M, Married Couple, Married Sex, Post-High King, Sex in a Thunderstorm, Sex in front of a fire, Thunderstorms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-06
Updated: 2018-09-06
Packaged: 2019-07-07 13:29:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15909195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BelfastDocks/pseuds/BelfastDocks
Summary: "Perhaps it was because she loved the sea and the storms so much, that he was starting to like them quite a lot too." Post-High King, Taran/Eilonwy





	Of Seawalls and Storms

**Author's Note:**

> A bit of inspiration spawned by CompanionWarrior. Never as awesome as her amazing stories, but then, she writes Eilonwy better than Alexander did. I haven't decided if I will turn this piece into something more or leave it "as is". So for right now, what you see is what you get.
> 
> Originally posted on FFnet in March 2013. Adding to AO3 to maintain.
> 
> ~BD

****

## Of Seawalls and Storms

****

The stones that formed the pitiful Old Wall were rough and pitted; and not quite what Taran had expected. Then again, he hadn't had a chance to look at the wall properly the first and only time he had been here, either.

He supposed he had expected stones that were smooth and rounded about the edges, like stones in riverbeds. Stones that had been rolled and tumbled by the force of flowing water. But these worn, ugly, unpolished blocks pricked the calloused skin of his palm when he ran his hand over the top of them. The original wall had been built in an awkward place and the waves did not lap against it unless a terrible storm was approaching; therefore, it was the wind and salt that primarily shaped the wall, and the two elements combined had clearly been doing a nasty job of it.

"Well? What do you think, sire?"

Wryly, he relied, "I think it needs to be closer to the sea, better positioned, taller, and the blocks should be crafted more skillfully than these."

One of the men who had accompanied them to the old seawall spoke up quickly, his voice far too oily for Taran's liking. "But this seawall is over two hundred years old, sire!"

"And it has never been maintained, apparently."

The man's face turned the color of porridge. "The council of Mona proposed just ten years ago to fill in some of the gaps, which was done. I should think that would be satisfactory."

Perhaps Eilonwy had sensed his rising ire, for she stepped in briskly, before Taran could cut the man off a second time. "Ten years ago?" she remarked. "What a dreadfully long time. A decade! Why, you can't possibly expect a two hundred year old seawall to not require renovation more often than every few decades. That's as bad as –"

"It has performed its duties admirably thus far," he protested. "I don't see why His Majesty insists on –"

"If a storm came up," Eilonwy interjected, "a bad storm, I mean, then the town would be flooded! And the cost would not be merely a new seawall, but lives! To not rebuild a new, more effective seawall would be like never taking care of your clothes, and then wondering why you're so cold in the winter when the snows come, and your coat is worn through! Really! Besides, this is what King Rhun wanted."

Before the council member could argue, Taran sighed and said with finality, "We'll start on it first thing in the morning. I have some master drafts the council can review this evening."

**oOoOoOo**

Standing at the open window casement in their chambers, he could hear the distant lap of waves against the piers and docks, rolling in to the rocky beaches on the outskirts of the town; unfortunately, the sound didn't seem to soothe his soul the way it soothed hers.

As if she could read his mind, she murmured, "There will always be those who resent you. There's absolutely no sense worrying about it."

"There's more to it than that. The council members who don't want a new seawall must have something else in mind. They're set dead against it; they argued incessantly after dinner about it, trying to persuade me to leave it alone and return to the mainland. Are they hoping the town will flood so they can obtain some personal gain? Would they have gone against Rhun the same way they're arguing against me? I'm just following Rhun's wishes, damn it all!"

"They may argue, Taran, but they daren't go against you, even if they're miffed. You're the High King of Prydain."

"Not of my choosing," he grit out, feeling a sudden flare of annoyance towards Dallben, and sympathy towards Gwydion.

Thoughtfully, she mused, "In a way, it was."

"But I didn't know it at the time. I had no idea my decisions were going to lead to that."

"Isn't it what you wanted when you were younger?" Her voice was teasing.

"As Gwydion would say; _with age comes wisdom_. Had I known then... Had I _listened_ then... I would probably still be only an Assistant Pig-Keeper now, and happier for it! I'm quite sick of all of the arguing that comes with being a king."

"Prophecies are called what they are for a reason. Still, I'm tired of the arguing for one evening, as well. Llyr! But the council members are really as bad as hornets guarding a nest, aren't they? I noticed Queen Teleria wasn't too keen on speaking up on our behalf, either. She seems to have lost some of her touch; I remember her being so much more demanding and opinionated when Dallben made me stay here to become a princess. I suppose that's what happens when one loses everyone they love, though. Her husband... Her son... I simply can't imagine losing you."

Her arms slipped around his waist suddenly, her palms pressing flat to his stomach and her cheek resting between his shoulder blades. He felt the familiar fluttering sensation around his navel, and he inhaled deeply and slowly to stay focused.

"You're trying to distract me," he murmured, still gazing out of the casement at the dark sky. There were no stars tonight; the cloud-cover was too thick. It had been that way all afternoon, which hadn't helped the slight headache he'd had while arguing with the council members about the construction of a new seawall.

"Hmm. You are easily distracted." Her hands slowly drifted up his chest and began untying the laces of his tunic.

His brow furrowed. "That one man on the council – Neidr – he reminds me of Magg. Oily, greasy bastard..."

"Magg, or Neidr?"

"Neidr. I don't trust him, Eilonwy. Not at all."

She nearly had the laces undone; her fingertips were brushing occasionally against the skin of his chest, and he had to bite down on the inside of his lower lip to keep from moaning at the sensation.

"Well, I don't trust him either, if it makes you feel better," she replied. Her hands skated back down his tunic and began pulling his belt loose from about his waist. "But we've no way to prove otherwise unless he does something obvious. Though I do hate waiting for him to do something obvious; it's like watching grass grow: Nothing ever seems to happen, but then, quite suddenly you realize it's been happening all along and it's two feet high."

"No way to prove otherwise?" He smirked slightly. "You're wrong, there. I set some men to follow him. They'll be discreet about it, and I hope they discover something worth knowing."

"That was a good idea. I'll be quite interested to see what they come back with. And if they find nothing... Well... Perhaps you and I can do some digging, ourselves. Do you remember when Gwydion dressed as a shoemaker? Why, I'll bet you could do the same thing and fool everyone the same way. You can pretend to be an Assistant Pig-Keeper."

His lips twitched in amusement at the idea, but then his belt dropped down his hips; he felt Dyrnwyn slide down his leg and hit the floor with a dull clunk and he was reminded again of what she was really doing. Outside of the open window, the wind picked up and tingled pleasantly against his warm face. He inhaled again; the scent of salt and brine tickled his nostrils.

"There's a storm coming tonight," he said. "The wind is picking up and the waves sound larger than usual."

"Observant of you." She moved her hands beneath the hem of his tunic so she could start on his breeches. "I thought you disliked the sea. I'm quite impressed you noticed."

"It isn't my favorite thing, but it isn't my least favorite," he corrected.

"And just what _is_ your favorite thing?"

His lips curved slightly into a small smile. "Sleep."

He heard her huff slightly; a moment later, she moved in front of him and said, "Well then, if you're going to be _that_ way...! _My_ favorite thing is the sea hitting the rocks."

There was a moment of silence between them; beyond the casement, he heard the sound of a wave crashing violently into one of the boulders she had just mentioned. He felt her fingers still upon the waistband of his breeches and her eyes became a bit unfocused as she listened to the brief roar.

"How I do wish," she whispered, "that we could sneak out to one of the beaches on the other side of the island tonight. Wouldn't that be lovely?"

"And get caught in the incoming storm? We'd likely fall into one of Glew's old caverns, and I've had enough of those for a lifetime! Absolutely not, Eilonwy."

"That isn't what I meant!" Her cheeks flushed slightly, a beautiful pink in the dim glow of the firelight from their hearth.

"No?"

"No! Oh, Taran of Caer Dallben, you know _exactly_ what I meant!"

He chuckled and finally placed his hands on her hips, and backed her just against the casement. He had been desperately trying to avoid touching her while she was loosening the confines of his clothing, because he was curious to see how far she would go. Now, he was desperate not to physically rip the blue silk gown from her body.

He contented himself with loosening the sash about her waist, and said conversationally, "Bit sandy, don't you think?"

Eilonwy's eyes flashed and she replied loftily, "You can wash sand off, of course."

"With salt water, naturally. Because it's readily available on an _island_."

"Hmm. Yes, it is. And I think I should like to taste the ocean on your skin." Her finger traced his half-visible collarbone.

"You have. You kissed me senseless one afternoon on the way over; you said I had salt on my lips." He paused, then asked curiously, "Is that why you did it?"

She gave him a small, slightly embarrassed smile. "I have to admit, there is something dreadfully tantalizing about how much I want to taste the sea on you. My two favorite things at once? _Llyr_ , Taran. For such a brilliant king, you can be awfully dense sometimes."

He felt momentarily dizzy at the thought – dizzy in a good way, the way he associated with whenever he thought of Eilonwy. "The storm is coming in, though."

A low rumble of thunder, far off to sea, made her stop and look out of the window. "Perhaps tomorrow night then."

"Perhaps. You know... While we're on the subject," he mused, "Sometimes when we're in front of the fire, I like to kiss the light on your shoulders."

"So I've noticed. And I certainly don't mind." Her sigh was one of longing; he gently pushed her gown off of her shoulder and pressed his lips to her skin, his hands tightening about her waist. She was sinking into him, her fingers suddenly fisting in his hair. A streak of lightening lit his eyelids as his mouth moved to her neck to taste her pulse. Her head tilted so he could keep moving upward and he took a shaky breath when he finally reached her jaw.

"You've done an excellent job of distracting me," he muttered. "I should thank you."

"As I said – you're quite easy to distract." She pushed his tunic up and over his head, then pulled him down and kissed him deeply.

He never could think with her hands on his skin, running over his shoulders and down his arms and across his chest; it was absolutely impossible. Eilonwy's hands were delicate and small, yet at the same time strong enough to hold a sword, and that fascinated him. And when her lips moved lazily with his, when her tongue skated along his, it felt as though his insides were twisting and writhing and threatening to obliterate his senses; as though he couldn't quite stop himself from feeling like any other eager, desperate young man in Prydain instead of the High King with a thousand responsibilities.

She pulled back after a few moments and he found that he had to gasp to catch his breath. His heart wouldn't stop racing and his blood burned hotly in his wrists and neck, but she didn't notice that she had undone him already; she had released him and was too busy snatching at the laces in her dress. "Blast these gowns!" she complained. "When I dressed as a boy during the war against Arawn, everything was so much simpler!"

"Not that you aren't beautiful all of the time," he stammered, bracing one hand against the casement for support (because his knees definitely felt a bit wobbly and he positively ached for her), "but I prefer you in gowns instead of men's clothing."

"Well, if we go out traipsing after Neidr and the others, I'll _have_ to dress like a boy. I'll not go wandering all over Mona in a silk dress and slippers. The last time I did, I had a most unpleasant time of it."

"If my men don't bring back worthy news tomorrow, I thought I'd start in the Hall of Records before traipsing all over the island. I'll check the treasury reports first."

She paused in pulling out the laces and hooks in her dress. "Do you think they've drained it?" she asked, clearly aghast.

"It's just an idea." His knees had regained some of their feeling, and he stood on one foot, tugged the boot off, dropped it heavily to the floor, and then switched and pulled off the other. "If there's not enough money to build a new seawall, it would make sense for them to try and persuade me to leave the old one, wouldn't it?"

"That would likely make more sense than some sort of plot against you in particular," she mused thoughtfully, sliding the dress down her body.

He momentarily stared at her; in only her flimsy chemise, he could see the outline of her figure in the firelight. The thunder outside cracked loudly – the storm was on the edge of the island and about to drench it completely, and somehow, the sounds were making his heart race as much as Eilonwy was. Perhaps it was because she loved the sea and the storms so much, that he was starting to like them quite a lot too, at definitely at this particular moment.

Eilonwy, however, didn't seem to notice his glazed expression; she kept on prattling as she tossed her lovely gown to a nearby chair so it wouldn't rumple on the flagstones. "It would also explain why they haven't assassinated Queen Teleria."

He jolted from staring at the swells of her breasts. He never liked to discuss the thought of assassination, but since she had brought up the subject, he said darkly, "Unless she's a puppet and they're using her, and need her alive for some purpose."

"That is a thought." Her brow furrowed slightly. "But she never struck me as the type of person who would allow herself to be manipulated in such a way."

Another flash of lightening lit the room and they both turned to the window; Taran reached over to pull it shut, but Eilonwy stopped him.

"No, do leave it open! I love the sound of the storm coming in."

He paused, then he bent and kissed her, slowly devouring her for a few moments and enjoying the whimpers in her throat and the way her body went lax against his, before he murmured against her mouth, "Very well. As the lady wishes. But if you get hit by lightening, don't blame me."

"Good heavens, but I rather feel as though I _have_ been! Just when I think I've succeeded in distracting _you_ , you manage to distract _me_." She laughed breathlessly. "I will say though, this is a lot easier in our own room than in our cabin on the ship on the way over. I was constantly afraid the captain or first mate would walk in on us, or heavens! – the cabin boy! He was only thirteen summers, he likely would have panicked had he –"

"Thankfully, he didn't, Taran stated pointedly, pulling her away from the window and to the hearth, where a large, thick bearskin rug was spread upon the floor.

"And I hated having to keep so quiet! I felt as though I couldn't enjoy anything, knowing that if I made any noise, all of the sailors would know _exactly_ what we were doing. And that was such an embarrassing thought. With the storm coming in, I won't have to watch myself so much."

"Eilonwy, you're only quiet when you're asleep."

"What a horrid thing to say to your wife!"

"Perhaps. But I still love you." He grinned and ignored the annoyed look on her face, and knelt down on the rug. She followed him despite her irritation; in fact, she pushed him onto his back and straddled his hips. Tossing her hair behind her, which seemed to glow redder in the light from the coals, she stated, "I would certainly hope so. You've let me nearly undress you completely, and if you didn't love me, I should greatly wonder at your morals."

He ran his hands up her thighs, pushing the thin fabric of the chemise out of his way. " _I'm_ not completely undressed though, which will cause problems if you don't do something about it.

"I think you can pull your own breeches off."

"Not with you sitting on top of me." He released her hips and crossed his arms under his head, and smirked up at her.

"Oh, you are insufferable!"

"What a horrid thing to say to your husband!" he mimicked teasingly.

She leaned down and kissed his lower lip, drawing it between hers to suck on it gently before mumbling, "I still love you too, though." Her hands were already pushing the offending article of clothing down his hips while his hands buried into her silky hair so he could continue kissing her.

When she reached a certain point and her knuckles grazed his thighs, he was unable to stop himself; he moaned and bucked slightly at the contact of skin against skin. Eilonwy rolled them, placing him on top instead. He kicked the breeches the rest of the way off and sighed gratefully as they nestled together on the rug, simply enjoying the feel of each other for a few moments before doing anything else.

"Sometimes," she whispered, after a long pause, "I do wish we could stay like this forever."

He sighed in agreement and began pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses along her shoulders and chest. "I wish it constantly, it seems," he breathed eventually. "But especially when I'm listening to someone drone on about uprisings in the eastern marshes..." He pressed another kiss between her breasts and she moaned, "Or some drought in the Ystrad Valley. As if I could control the bloody weather."

She almost giggled at the sarcasm behind his voice. Threading her fingers into his hair while he continued brushing his lips against her skin, she murmured, "That explains why you usually look dazed throughout such councils. You'd best stop that."

"I would probably feel more guilty, except that I've caught you at it once or twice." Taran flicked his tongue in her navel and her body twitched; he heard her gasp for breath and felt her fingers tighten in his hair.

"I do not," she groaned, sliding her hands down to the back of his neck.

"A weak argument..."

"Taran, do stop, I'm quite tired of arguing! I said that earlier! And at the moment, I can't think at all!"

He crawled back to her mouth and pulled her hip against his; she twisted her leg about his waist.

"Makes two of us," he muttered, moving against her suddenly, tired of waiting any longer.

"Two of us what?" Her voice was a touch higher than usual as she arched against him and her fingernails dug into his back with a sharp, pleasant sting.

"Two of us... that can't think..." he gasped out.

"Some pair we make. Oh, _Llyr_ , Taran!" She arched hard against him as he shifted deeper.

He panted for breath and buried his face against her neck, picking up his pace slightly. Beyond the casement, he heard the rolls of thunder and rain against the battlements of the castle; the sounds drowned together in his head with Eilonwy's cries. He could feel her hair tickling his nose, and the sheen of sweat on her taut stomach and sharp hipbones and between her breasts as she pressed into him.

She suddenly twisted and found his mouth with hers, nipping his lips just enough to get his attention. He muffled a cry at the sensation and braced one hand against the rug, pushing up from her a few inches and sliding to a halt to reposition. She gazed up at him and traced her fingers along his face and neck.

"You are incredibly attractive in firelight," she said shakily, meeting his eyes.

"Just in firelight?" he managed.

She cupped his face and kissed him. "All of the time, but _especially_ in firelight. Oh _Taran_... _Please_..."

She rolled her hips against his and he began again, closing his eyes and simply feeling the way she fit against him so perfectly. Two years ago, Dallben had claimed that when the Sons of Don left Prydain, all magic would cease to exist. But when Eilonwy suddenly scraped her nails down his shoulders and gasped and tensed beneath him and quivered around him and the world beyond their chamber ceased to exist; when he finally let go as well and his own body simply shattered in on itself and floated away and he collapsed on top of her; he dimly thought that Dallben was _wrong_...so very wrong.

If this wasn't magic, nothing was.

It was several long, heavy moments before either spoke; they lay curled together on the rug; motionless, panting.

"It's raining hard now," Eilonwy finally whispered, running a finger along his lower lip and kissing him several times.

He nodded and tightened his hold on her, despite the fact that they were both quite hot and sweaty and sticky.

Still in a whisper, she went on, "I cannot imagine... having left you behind for the Summer Country." He felt her body shiver at the thought, a momentary fear that their lives may have taken a different turn that day.

"I cannot imagine living without you," he responded softly, running his palm along her cheek before his hand fell limply to the rug.

They fell silent again, and Taran had nearly fallen into a doze when she suddenly murmured, "Tomorrow morning... We can investigate the Hall of Records. Secretly, I think."

"Mm. Probably best. Come on, let's at least get to the bed, Eilonwy. Before we fall asleep."

"It's quite comfortable here," she protested feebly.

He ignored her as he sat up, and he lifted her in his arms and carried her to the bed. She crawled beneath the thin coverlet as he staggered back to the window to close it.

"Oh, Taran, I wish you would leave it open..."

He latched it shut and grimly said, "I would, except that the last time I was on Mona, I distinctly remember having to climb a tower and into a window to find you. And if I could do it then, someone could do it now and sneak into this chamber."

Fortunately, she didn't argue. Thankful for the fact that she hadn't, he picked up Dyrnwyn (determined not to leave it upon the floor across the room), placed it upon the table by the bed, ran a hand through his damp hair, and crawled into bed with her. The moment he did, Eilonwy pressed up against his side and rested her head in his shoulder, as she normally did, and he found that he was as tired as he ever was when he went to bed, despite the number of thoughts trying to press through the hazy, delicious fog of making love to Eilonwy, and he fell asleep within moments.


End file.
